Golden Nights
by supercasey
Summary: Takes place after episode 5 of season 12, not at all proven canon (yet). Tucker doesn't believe in the Rebels Army, Kimball makes him think differently after showing him a video; AKA, that one night Tucker misjudged four lieutenants who were alot different from the people he'd seen.


**Golden Nights**

**Fandom: Red Vs Blue (RvB)**

**Description: Tucker doesn't believe in the Rebels Army, Kimball makes him think differently after showing him a video; AKA, that one night Tucker misjudged four lieutenants who were alot different from the people he'd seen.**

**A/N: Totally making up a name for Volley Ball Dick Squad Girl; how about Beaumont? Also, using a fake first name for both Palomo and Bitters; Bitters being Jason and Palomo being Jackson (But Bitters might call him Jackie).**

* * *

"Can it not be depressing as the talk we're having right now?" Tucker asked, his voice showing what little interest he held in a talk with his current commander; it also showed his 'Dealing With Shit' meter was going off the deep end at the moment.

"Sadly, no." Kimball said, already walking away, motioning for Tucker to follow. "Come on; I need to show you something important."

* * *

"Okay, seriously, what the fuck is this?" Tucker asked, giving the huge screen before him a once over; he was not impressed, it was just a really old plasma screen after all, not much it could do other than show camera footage.

"This," Kimball said, knocking her fist on the control panel once, for effect. "Is the Rebellion's main computer; it also show us every bit of security footage. Usually we use it to track traitors, illegal drug distribution, murder weapons, and see which soldiers are breaking protocol."

"You mean getting laid?" Tucker deadpanned, shrugging at the heap of junk that Kimball called a computer. "Not much to look at; why're you even showing me this?"

Kimball smiled, legitimately smiled. "Glad you asked, Captain," He hated it when Kimball called him that, it didn't sound right, _Captain Tucker_, He hated it so much. "You see, recently our guards noticed that we had picked up some... interesting footage."

"Bow chicka-" Tucker was cut off as Kimball glared him, telling him to shut his trap before it could start.

"It's not that kind of footage; it was... almost nice, to watch it. I think you'd benefit from watching this video, if not only to strengthen your bond with your soldiers, but understand them better." Kimball explains, rolling the tape.

"Okay, but if this is a video of Palomo jerking it, I'm out." Tucker announced, standing beside Kimball as the video started.

* * *

It was dark out in the Rebel Camp; soldiers were asleep in their bunks, civilians were hidden far away from the camps, captains were out like lights; it was peaceful for once. Off to the side, where no one could see them, the camera zoomed in on where Bitters, Smith, Jensen, and Palomo all were, sitting around a roughly made campfire. That fire had little chance of lasting all night, but it was still roaring strong; warning anyone to stay away, else get burned. They were all in civvies; Palomo was in a blue pocket hoodie, sweatpants, and baseball cap that promoted Chemical Romance. Smith had on brown shorts, a black button-up shirt (It was open, showing his slightly hairy chest), and had white socks to cover his feet.

Bitters had on a black tank top, his arms covered in sleeve tattoos of all sorts, he had on shorts, which used to be jeans but looked to have but cut shorter (Quite badly actually). Jensen had on a maroon T-shirt reading 'Dick Squad' (She had made it weeks ago, Simmons had nearly fainted from that shit), she also had on skinny jeans that reached her angles; her hair was done up in a thick ponytail, looking curly as it always did. All of them were, despite the day's events, laughing and talking as if nothing else mattered. Heck, Jensen and Palomo were even getting along (After training, Beaumont had punched Palomo in the balls for his slightly sexist remarks, he had limped back to his tent). Now, however, it seemed that everyone was getting along swimmingly.

[These were not the lieutenants that Tucker knew; Tucker knew a bunch of lazy, crazy, weak, unfortified, and mostly untrained kids trying to be heroes; sadly enough, that perfectly described himself from his Blood Gulch days.]

"Come on, Bitters; one more!" Palomo cheered, grinning at the older teen happily, grey eyes shining from the fire's amber glow. "Play something else, _please_!" His tone was purposefully high-pitched.

"Naw." Bitters said, a shit eating grin on his unbrushed teeth, eyebrow raised mockingly at the youngest lieutenant in the Rebel Army. "I don't think I will."

"Bitters." Smith's voice was strict, yet gentle. "Stop teasing him."

"Alright, mom." Bitters said mockingly, tilting his head at Smith, as if he were studying him. "I'll stop picking on baby brother."

Jensen rolled her eyes, smiling at her friends. "Thop teathing him, Bitterth." She lisped; the last year and a half of that same lisp had molded her, making her no longer afraid of lisping, resulting in her lack of even speaking; it had taken a long time, but she was talking more and more everyday. "Come on, one more thong!"

Palomo had his eyes wide, jaw a bit slack. "Did you just say thong?"

Jensen flicked him off. "Fuck off, Palomo." She threatened, smiling as Bitters chuckled at her reaction. "I'll get Beaumont to kick your ath."

"I'm shaking in my armor." Palomo claimed, waving his hands in the air to illiterate his point to Jensen. "But really, Bitters, dude, please play just _one more song_."

"One more song will turn into seventeen more like _that_," Bitters snapped his fingers, to show just how fast it would be, the snap ringing in the air. "I'm not playing anymore; who knows, Kimball might actually make me work tomorrow if Grif isn't awake to make it _look _like I'm training."

"Not even if I say... pretty please?" Smith asked, making his voice just an octave higher, smiling in an all-knowing sort of way at Bitters.

Bitters grumbled lamely as he made a massive deal out of picking up his guitar, slapping it onto his lap, and starting to play; he glared halfheartedly at Smith, who remained smug. "You're such a piece of shit; where'd you learn that, kindergarten?"

"I learned it from the best." Smith claimed, leaning on the empty barrel behind him heavily, yawning loudly. "I'm not sure how long I can stay up with you, kids; I'm worn out from today's training."

"Aw, the old man too slow to keep up?" Bitters joked.

"Not as slow as you during training; you weren't even doing push-ups!" Palomo stated, earning a glare from Bitters. "Just saying, you could've actually helped with fighting Felix.

"Alright, one; that was a lost fucking cause from the start, two; Smith is still an old fucking man, three; I was so doing push-ups." Bitters explained, still somehow playing his guitar perfectly, despite the slight distraction of his conversations.

Smith rolled his eyes, the dark blue irises unbelieving. "Well, this old man can outrun you any day, Jason Bitters." He promised, resting his chin on his hand, tilting his own head at Bitters, jet black hair long and flapping in the mild wind. "I'm not even that old; I'm 28."

"Older than any of uth." Jensen deadpanned, almost ashamed as she stared at her feet, taking in the Rebel armor carefully and sadly. "Goth... I keep forgetting that I'm only eighteen..."

Palomo patted her shoulder, smile small and comforting. "Hey, at least you're not sixteen; being sixteen sucks more than a punch to the balls... right, Bitters?"

"Shut up, Jackie; so what, we all know that Beaumont's punched more than eighty dudes in the balls in just two months; I just... caught her at a bad time." Bitters claimed, finishing his song and running his hand warily over the plastered wood. "Could've been anyone getting punched by her..."

"_Bullthit_!" Jensen claimed, grinning big and wide, ignoring her red banded braces with as much intensity as she could muster. "Thhe kicked your ath, Bitterth!"

Smith finally sighed, the smallest smirk on his face; he'd never get tired of these kids, ever. "That's enough, kids; stop teasing each other or I'll get _someone_ to make you do laps tomorrow morning."

"I'd like to see you try!" Palomo challenged, sticking his tongue out at Smith, blowing a raspberry with little to no self-consciousness; that was the thing about being a Rebel, after awhile, you just kind of lost your own respect and gave little fucks about how you were seen.

"Oh, would you?" Smith looked ready to get up and show Palomo just what he'd so, but the teenager wisely backed down, whimpering a bit. "Relax, Jackson; I'm not gonna hurt you, not while Captain Tucker still needs us."

[Tucker tensed, staring at the screen a bit more intensely now, watching the lieutenants. Where would this conversation being going now?]

"Tho... anybody elth worried like crathy about the mithon in a few dayth?" Jensen asked, looking around, hazel eyes full of _very real_ concern on her _very real_ face. "I mean, I trutht our captainth... but, what if we don't all make it back?"

"I know what you mean." Palomo said, eyes downcast, full of a sadness that was usually either hidden by a stubborn resolve to keep it away or by his helmet. "After Rogers and Cunningham... I thought I'd die soon. But, you know, I don't gotta be down about it; I knew I'd die if I joined the army, so I don't really mind too much... but if I die, I'm gonna be a badass ghost and haunt you fuckers."

[For no appropriate reason what-so-ever, Tucker was reminded of Church; not Epsilon Church, or Bowling-ball Church, or even Director Church; just Church, the one he met and befriended in Blood Gulch... God, how could a kid like Palomo remind him of Leonard Church; the biggest asshole in the known universe?]

"Fuck that, if you die, you'd make a really shitty ghost; I'd do some _real_ fucking haunting!" Bitters claimed proudly, pointing his thumb at himself, eyes closed as his grin was made even more apparent on his naturally tanned skin. "I will literally make you and Mathews wet the bed every fucking night, man."

Jensen rolled her eyes, smiling proudly. "No way; I'm the betht motherfucking ghotht in thith whole army, Bitterth."

Smith laid back on the ground, deciding to forget the barrel and just lie down; it would do better for his sore back. "You'd all make terrible ghosts; I'd make sure to keep you all in line." He promised, smirking as Bitters groaned in immature response.

[And here Tucker was, watching these dumb motherfuckers, all arguing over who'd be the best ghost while there's a goddamn _war_ out there; killing their friends, family, brothers, sisters... _God_, it was killing everyone, wasn't it? Which one had lost the brother; Bitters? Tucker couldn't remember, only because when it was told offhandedly to him by Grif, he hadn't paid attention; Dammit, why hadn't he paid attention!?]

"Hey, guys?" Palomo asked, pulling out...

[Dear lord, the youngest kid in the New Republic had somehow gotten his hands on a bottle of motherfucking rum and a pack of cigarettes; Jesus fuck, what was up with this army.]

"It's not alot, but it'll keep you going, Bitters." Palomo assured the older teenager, handing him the pack of cigarettes with an almost disgusted look; he clearly disliked them.

[Okay, good, the fucking kid isn't smoking; it's only Bitters. Bitters Tucker can deal with, after all, Grif smokes at least two packs a day, his troops must be smoking too; Palomo he wouldn't be able to handle. For no reason, Palomo reminded him of Junior, his son, the kid who was somewhere far, far away, in a whole different galaxy maybe; to be clear, he wasn't with Tucker, and drove him insane. Man, why would _Palomo_ remind him of _Junior_!?]

Bitters nodded, taking the pack, tucking it into his pocket. "Thanks, Jackie." He responded, smiling as he yanked one out, lighting it and taking a smoke instantly. "Damn, I forgot how fucking good it tasted; haven't had a smoke in _weeks_!"

Jensen wrinkled her nose, hating the smell. "Ugh, Bitterth, put that thit away! It thmellth like dying animalth!" She claimed, waving away the smoke clouds around her with a persistent fury. "I hate it when you thmoke..." It sounded like a phrase she was tired of saying; how long had Bitters been smoking for anyhow?

Bitters, for a reason beyond understanding, snuffed out the cigarette at once, eyes an apologetic shade of dark brown as he stared at Jensen; Tucker had never seen anyone looks that sorry. "Sorry, Katie Cat; keep forgetting you hate that shit."

"We're just worried about you, Jason." Smith claimed, slowly but surely falling out of it, tired out of his mind; he yawned, he wouldn't last very long now.

"Well... I brought booze." Palomo claimed, holding up the vodka with pride.

"It's called vodka, dumbass." Bitters said, giving Palomo a very blank look. "I need to teach you a thing or two about alcohol; Booze 101, Mr. Bitters, vokdaologist, sexy professor of 'Get Fucked Up' university."

"Can I drop out?" Jensen asked jokingly, earning a playful scoff from Bitters, who placed his guitar aside, pulling out a few old beer drinking glasses out of his raggedy old backpack.

Smith suddenly shot up, as if he had just woken up (Which he had). "Did I hear something about vodka?" He asked, tone very serious as well as curious. "Please tell me you have booze, or vodka; either works."

[Tucker couldn't help but laugh; for all of the shit Smith put up with for Caboose, it was no wonder he was craving a beer or vodka, the dude earned it.]

"Of course you wake up for _vodka_." Bitters said, careful to say vodka loud enough for Palomo to hear clearly. "There's nothing else that can wake you up... except apparent Captain Caboose; that is one loud motherfucker."

"He's not so bad, once you get to know him." Smith claimed, smirking as he was handed a glass of vodka, sipping on it slowly, to savor it while it lasted. "He reminds me of my son; the one I had before, remember? I don't know if any of you ever met him before the war."

"Oh! That cute little black haired baby, right?" Jensen asked, smiling widely. "He wath tho cute! He looked jutht like you, Thmith!"

Smith chuckled at the compliment, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Well, you're a spitting image of your father, I'll tell you that much."

All went dead quiet.

[Now this, Tucker remembered; Simmons had come to him one day, concerned that Jensen was avoiding him. She had been; Simmons reminded her, apparently, of her father, who had joined with the Feds a bit before the war had started, when it had only been small fights and disputes over nothing. God, Jensen had been ripped apart by that shit; her mother had taken off after that, leaving her alone to fend for herself. Tucker wished he remembered who had taken her in, was it someone else's family or was she made a simple orphan? He couldn't remember the rest, all he remember was a worried Simmons, a concerned Beaumont, and a possibly sobbing Jensen. (Had she cried, or had she just stayed hidden, away from everyone else?)]

"I... I'm so sorry, Katie." Smith said, voice apologetic; his words were careful, as if attempting to tame a timid little fawn. "I didn't mean to bring it up... me and him used to be friends, you know, I just... I forgot about what happened."

"It'th not your fault, Thmith." Jensen replied; no, it was his fault, even Tucker could tell how fucking mad she was inside at the mentioning of her dad. "We're all just a bit worked up ith all; Bitterth, could you play another thong?"

"Sure thing, Katie Cat; any one you'd like." Bitters promised, strumming his guitar peacefully.

"We're here for you, Katie; we're all here for each other until we die. And if we all die... we'll be super cool ghosts together; we'll take care of Smith's son, and haunt people, and make those Feds wet themselves." Palomo promised, smiling genuinely at the other.

The video ended there.

* * *

"So, do you get it now?" Kimball asked, giving Tucker a hopeful gaze.

"Yeah... yeah, I guess I do." Tucker muttered, starting to walk away. "Hey, Kimball?"

"Yeah?" Kimball asked, turning around and staring at Tucker, taking in how he looked more... at peace.

Tucker chuckled, smiling widely at the woman. "Thanks."

"No problem, captain." Kimball replied, watching as the aquamarine soldier took off, supposedly to tell Palomo that he maybe didn't hate him, or tell Jensen she was doing a good job, or talk to Smith about his own kid, or even talk to Bitters about guitar lessons; either way, he was running off to do something.

Kimball could only hope it was a good something.

* * *

**A/N: Super short, but I loved this idea, also it's not Beta-Read; I'll fix shit later though. Please R&R!**

**~Supercasey.**


End file.
